


Flying Visit

by thedevilchicken



Category: Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Nick photographs Ian. Ian doesn't particularly mind.
Relationships: Ian Malcolm/Nick Van Owen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Flying Visit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reeby10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeby10/gifts).



"I'd better not see those on your website, Nick," Ian says. 

Nick snorts. The fact he's kneeling naked on the side of the bed with his camera in his hand really doesn't look good for the website situation, except Ian at least thinks _he_ looks really good. Almost surprisingly good, considering a year ago Ian said no to the photoshoot and six months ago he still had no interest in reliving the past, but well, things change. And Kelly has a way of twisting him around her little finger - she said _but dad, it might be good for you!_ and the next thing Ian knew, he was telling his manager _sure, I'll meet Van Owen_.

And yes, well, maybe Kelly was right. She's a clever kid. His kid. Either she's psychic or she needs to go into business making dating sites because it turns out Nick Van Owen, war photographer, animal activist, veteran of Jurassic Park, is just what the doctor ordered. 

"You know, I don't actually have a website," Nick says, but he snaps another photo anyway. "Turns out at least fifty percent of women aren't into guys who know their FTP from their HTML. Who knew, am I right?"

Ian rolls his eyes. He stretches out, both hands tucked up underneath his head, naked as the day he was born. And then Nick puts the camera down on the nightstand, next to the ashtray they haven't used because neither of them smokes particularly often anymore, except maybe a couple the morning after, and the pack of condoms they couldn't find a way into. After a brief back-and-forth, Nick lying there on his stomach looking back over his shoulder as if that said, _do you always have this problem in bed, Dr. Malcolm? should I maybe add that to my next piece?_ Ian admitted defeat. Nick sat up on his knees and gave it a try. They both checked their pants pockets for stray penknives except Ian had lost his somewhere back on Isla Nublar and Nick's was as blunt as the tip of his tongue. And yes, so there were scissors in the kitchen, but that was all the way downstairs. There was a chance there were scissors in the bathroom, too, but that was two doors down. 

"Look, let's get to the point," Nick said, kneeling there in front of him with an erection the size of a tyrannosaurus - Ian would know, he supposed. "When was the last time you screwed around?" 

"It's been a while," Ian admitted, thinking about late nights writing his new book, early mornings taking Kelly to gymnastics practice, and every few weeks how the intrepid photojournalist flew in from who knew where, three cameras and an army surplus duffel bag full of his used underwear that he threw into Ian's laundry while they ate Thai takeout from boxes spread out over the dining table, and then went to bed. 

Nick raised his brows. Ian raised his, too. _Oh_ ," he said. "I see." And then he set the box aside. 

Six months ago, they met up in a bar - the slightly seedy kind, the better to make the photos look interesting. Nick had read the book he was doing the terrible puff piece about, asked questions like he might have had a little interest, snapped a shot or two then said, "Look, do you have nightmares, too?"

Ian smiled. "You've been talking to my daughter," he replied. "Smart girl, yea high? Almost eaten by a dinosaur."

"Sure, she might've sent an email." 

"Are you here because you want to help me sleep, Mr. Van Owen?"

"Maybe I'm here 'cause I'd like to sleep a little better, too." 

Ian wasn't sure he'd read the temperature of the situation even close to correctly, at least not until he stood and left and Nick followed him, close behind. They necked like teenagers in the alley behind the bar, hands shoved down the front of each other's pants, not enough space to do much but squeeze and get cramp in his palm but somehow they made do. It was strange, he thought - he'd never had sex with a man who was taller than him, but he couldn't call it a complaint. 

When they pulled back, Ian had a hickey the size of Isla Nublar sucked into his neck and Nick had a damp patch in the crotch of his khakis and a look on his face like he could go again if they just gave him five minutes. Ian gave him twenty; that was how long it took to drive back to Ian's place with Nick's luggage in his trunk. Maybe Ian couldn't get it up again so soon but that didn't stop him sucking Nick until he moaned loud enough to wake the neighbors. 

The next time he was in town, he called from the airport. Ian picked him up. Now, that's how it goes. 

"Wow, I can't imagine what red-blooded woman wouldn't want to hear about your custom stylesheets, Nick," Ian says, and Nick laughs. He stretches out beside him, on his side of the bed; Ian's not quite surprised that sometime in the past six months, Nick Van Owen claimed a side. He's not quite surprised when Nick walks his fingers down his chest, either, down to his cock, and wraps his hand around him. Ian raises his eyebrows. Nick shrugs. Then he slips his hand down to Ian's thigh instead, where the scar is from his first trip into the past. The perverse thing about that is, Nick knows exactly what he's doing; Ian starts to stiffen. For a guy who talks so much about women, he sure knows a lot about men. 

Nick straddles his thighs. He's put on a little weight around the middle since the island, but Ian thinks that looks good on him, too. Ian jokes about love handles sometimes and Nick makes a face but he knows Ian likes it and hell, Nick doesn't mind it about himself. It didn't stop him kneeling on the bed last night, ass up, face down, knees spread wide. It doesn't stop him kneeling now, astride Ian's hips, and when Ian squeezes him there, Nick laughs and wraps his hands around them, one for each erection. He's good with his hands. 

The first time Nick came over, months ago, he stayed for six days before he flew out to Afghanistan. The second time, he stayed for four days then then flew out to Gaza. Who knows where he'll be going next time - chances are he doesn't know himself. 

Ian pushes him down onto his back and Nick laughs out loud and wraps his legs around his waist. "You're such an asshole," he says. "Anyone ever told you that?"

Ian's mouth twists. "There's a possibility I've heard that somewhere," he replies. "Was that a complaint or just an observation?"

Nick doesn't reply. He drags him down into a kiss instead. 

Sure, they both have nightmares. There's teeth and trees and running and...well, _teeth_ , and he'd really like to leave that in the past. 

Nick, though: Ian figures he's one thing from the past he could get used to.


End file.
